


Light in Darkness

by sweetfayetanner



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Mallory is a healer not a killer, Michael gets his happy ending too, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16632506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetfayetanner/pseuds/sweetfayetanner
Summary: Mallory’s trip back in time is to save Michael, not destroy him.





	Light in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> One of many possible fix it fics. I was not pleased with what happened at all, so I did a rewrite. I have it posted to my Tumblr, too, but I felt like adding it here.
> 
> Enjoy!

She’s supposed to kill him, but she doesn’t want to.

She can’t, not when her hands are made for healing and her soul has been woven from compassion and kindness and warmth, luminous like sunlight, her powers shimmering like gold inside of her for so long.

Mallory isn’t a killer. She doesn’t know how to be.

But she can still make this right; she knows she’s strong enough for that.

Mallory comes to with a quiet gasp, the past real and alive around her, the magic still humming along her skin. The metallic scent of blood hits her first and her eyes are suddenly glassy with unshed tears as a ragged breath makes its way past her lips. She’s in a bedroom and there’s a man dead on the floor—a priest; his body hanging limp, blood running in grotesque ribbons down his neck. And there’s a boy staring at her with wide, impossibly blue eyes.

Michael.

It strikes her then just how young, how innocent he looks, so different from the man with the lilting voice and knowing, manipulative gaze. Michael is perched over the footboard of his bed, bare feet dangling over the edge, toes flexing. His lips are parted just slightly, childlike wonder and confusion forming a crease between his brows.

He tilts his head a little. “Who are you?”

His voice is so young, so fragile.

Mallory tries not to look at the body on the floor as she moves closer.

“I’m here to save you,” she tells him as one of her tears finally rolls down her cheek. “If you let me.”

Something shadows Michael’s clear blue gaze, and Mallory feels it, like fire and rage attacking her senses. It’s inside him, holding him prisoner. It makes her dizzy, her stomach roiling as the darkness of it seeps into the room.

Michael shakes his head. “No one can do that.” His voice wavers, eyes downcast to the body at his feet.

“I can,” Mallory promises and offers the gentlest of smiles even though her hands tremble at her sides. “I’m the one who can help you. I know you’re scared—I am, too.” His gaze softens. “But...I can heal you, free your soul. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He nods and untangles himself from the bed post. His steps toward her are soft and tentative, golden curls falling into his eyes.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because it’s not too late,” Mallory whispers. “Not yet.”

She takes another unsteady breath, holding out her hands in front of her with her palms facing Michael. “Whatever happens, don’t be afraid.”

Michael stands completely still, hands clenched into fists at his sides, watching her every movement. Mallory steels herself, heart beating wildly in her chest, and reaches out to the darkness within him, the evil threatening his immortal soul. It  _hurts_ —it sends a shockwave through them both and they stumble back a few paces, the breath nearly stolen from their lungs. It’s resistant, fighting her.

Michael holds her in his wide-eyed gaze, his cheeks stained with fresh tears. Desperate. Scared. Lost. Mallory reaches out again and the darkness tries to sink its claws into her, all sin and anger and violence. The weight of it is suffocating, bruising. She cries out, pushing against it, scarlet dripping from her nose onto the floor.

Mallory sees it manifest on Michael’s face—demonic and pale, with eyes like obsidian, like the void, like the Devil himself. It’s strong, but Mallory—and Michael—is stronger. She meets it with light, blinding and radiant and pure. Her power flows outward, warming the room, coiling around Michael’s soul. Protecting him. Healing him.

 _Let him go_ , she demands.  _Leave him_.

Michael’s knees give out the moment the darkness finally relinquishes its hold. He falls to the floor, sobbing, a painful, mournful sound of relief echoing around them. He crumples and Mallory is there in the next heartbeat, on her knees in front of him, pulling him into an embrace.

“It’s okay,” she soothes. “You’re okay now.”

Michael can barely get out a word as he clings to her, shaking, but she hears the quiet “thank you,” that’s muffled into her shoulder. Mallory drags her fingers through his hair until his crying slows, her own tears still trailing down her face. She’s exhausted and sore, hurting in a way she can’t fathom.

But it’s worth it.

Michael finally parts from her, eyes bright and blue and hopeful. Mallory kneels over the priest; she’s drained, tired, but she summons enough energy to repair his wounds. He gasps to life, wild-eyed shock and panic on his face until Mallory places a hand over his head, whispering a spell.

When he picks himself up and scrambles out of the room, Mallory notices the woman standing in the doorway. Michael’s grandmother. Constance. Mallory rises to her feet under the weight of Constance’s accusatory, bewildered look, never faltering. Michael hovers behind her, slowly moving from the floor, his shuddering breaths still soft and quiet.

“Who the hell are you?” she wants to know.

Mallory doesn’t have time to explain. She crosses the distance between them, and before Constance can protest, she takes the woman’s face gently in her hands. The whispered spell resonates around them.

“See him,” Mallory tells her, cleansing her soul of the pain that the darkness inside Michael had caused.

When Mallory releases her, Constance’s eyes are already drawn beyond her shoulder, to Michael, who’s waiting, still unsure and afraid. Constance puts a shaking hand to her lips, her eyes glistening as she moves past Mallory to her grandson.

“Oh, my beautiful, sweet boy,” she says, taking Michael into her arms. “Come here.” Mallory watches them, watches the woman whisper how much she loves this boy, watches Michael fall into the safety of her embrace.

At peace. Loved.

Mallory leaves them, breathing in the warm, luminous air of a new world.


End file.
